Windward Review Volume 19 (2021): Empathy and Entropy

Stefan Sencerz
PEOPLE ON THE BEACH OR
EXISTENTIALISM IN THE ART OF
WALKING THE DOGS
On a mission
I like it that my dogs have good manners. So, to teach them a lesson, I
try to utilize every natural “barrier” -- an open door to the house, stairs, a door
step, open door to the car, a gutter in the street, a pier, any drop or elevation of the
ground, a set of poles just sticking out from the ground, and even a line I draw in
the sand. Yes, we try to practice everywhere. So, I do not need to worry that they
will bolt out one day and disappear in thin air or, even worse, will get in a fight with
the rattlers in the dunes or will be run over by a car.
This morning I make them sit in front of the open door until they are completely
calm. Only then we step outside. They follow me to my car. And then they
wait some more, in front of the car, before I invite them in.
All of a sudden, I see two young men dashing cross the parking lot. “Mister!
Mister! May we have a word with you?” I glance around yet see no emergency, So,
at first, I try to ignore them. “Wait, doggies! Wait pysie! Wait!” I whisper gently while
these two keep coming at us in full speed shouting off the top of their lungs, “Mister!
Mister! May we have a word with you?”
I invite the dogs in, settle them down on the back seat, lower the windows,
close the door and only then turn towards them, “What can I do for you?”, I ask.
“We just wanted to know whether you go to church?”
“Yes, I do”, I say, “I go there every day”.
“And what is the name of the temple where you worship?” they continue.
And I give this question some thought. The root meaning of the word “temple” (lat.
templum) is “a part that is cut or carved off”. If you join any temple, how easy it is to
be seduced by the stain-glass windows sifting bright light as if from another world,
and by all tall towers pointing up there, to the sky. Perhaps this is why so many
mystics choose to live in the mountains and deserts with no walls surrounding their
spiritual practice. On a clear night, you can hold the Milky Way in the palm of your
hand.
All of this is a flash in my mind. I turn towards them and respond with my
own question. “What’s in the name? How about logos? And what about practice that
turns logos into the living flesh?”
This seems to puzzle them a bit; they slow down start shifting uneasily
on their feet. Finally, one of them mumbles something that sounds like, “what do
you mean?” “It’s way too difficult to explain in words”, I say grabbing a handle to
the car’s door. Then, after a short pause, I glance at them again, and drop casually,
“Well, maybe it could be demonstrated if you had a moment or two. But, sorry, I got
to go”.
“No, no! Please, stay! Show us what you mean”. And since they ask for it, I
begin with “OM!” (or rather “aeoum”, for) I stretch each vowel to the fullest watching
their faces become pale like white paper. I got you, I smirk inside, and turn up the
heat.
“NAMU!” This could easily take another minute, maybe even two, but mid
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